


Arrest Me

by sweetest (hoesthetic)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, shoe & thigh riding, this is nothing but porn so if that isnt ur cup of tea dont read this!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15803970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoesthetic/pseuds/sweetest
Summary: Minho chuckles, studying him.“What a pretty toy you are,” he says but it seems more like thinking aloud, “C’mere.”





	Arrest Me

**Author's Note:**

> warnings/tags: some objectification (calling someone "toy" & "doll", as well as "dumb toy"), humiliation, lil edging, crying. uhh rlly overwhelmed sub. aftercare is very brief n short! the smut isnt _too_ hardcore but just in case!! >_<  
> everything that happens in this is consensual between the characters!! if you want fluff or relationship dynamics, u wont find it here since this is d/s. and also bdsm scene-ish.

Chan's hands are clenched into tight fists, knuckles pressing harshly against the floor as he works his hips back and forth against the top of Minho's shoe. The humiliation burns in his cheeks, making them flush in crimson and his breathing quickens, pathetic whines falling from his lips as Chan squeezes his eyes shut.  
  
Minho tsks, and Chan can feel his stare in the back of his head even with his chin pressed down. It's embarrassing and it's not enough, rubbing himself against Minho's shoe because that's the only friction he is gonna get. Everything feels hot, overwhelming, burning.  
  
"Oh, baby," he hears Minho murmur in an amused tone, "you're so needy." He is cooing and Chan lets out a sharp, choked gasp in response, hips twitching. It's too much, he's completely naked in front of him, the arousal aching between his legs as his bare cock drags against the leather of Minho's shoe. He presses his face to Minho's knee just to get his hair grabbed and pulled back.  
  
"Be good," it's a warning judging by the sharpness of Minho's voice but again, Chan's judgement is hazy and blurry. He prefers to play safe though, pressing his chin down again, lips parted as he pants quietly.  
  
"Please... please, ple _-ah-_ se," Chan starts to blabber, fairly unsure of what he is begging for. Minho sighs, cold, running his fingers in Chan's hair. He glances up, glassy eyes and all, lips trembling as he takes shaky breaths.

"What, pretty thing?" Minho asks, sliding his palm to Chan's cheek, resting it there and he leans against it, sighing in a pleased manner.

"More, I want more, I _-ah,_ I need more, please, _pleaseplease,_ " he pleads, hips bucking against him in an uneven rhythm when Chan can't decide if he wants to shy away or press harder. He is so horribly sensitive, leaking.  
  
"Huh?" Minho asks, pressing his thumb on Chan's parted lips, easily slipping inside and dragging it against the roots of Chan's teeth.

"More how, baby? You have to be clear," Minho sighs, displeased. Chan lets out a weak cry, not wanting to speak with Minho's thumb in his mouth.

" _Ah,_ I, your thigh? Please, Minho, you-your thigh," Chan borderline sobs, voice semi muffled with the digit in his mouth.  
  
Minho pulls his hand back, swiping the saliva on Chan's cheek.

"You think you deserve that?" Minho asks and Chan nods erratically.

"I'm good, please, I’m good," he gasps out, feeling so close but it's barely enough. He hears Minho sigh, sounding bored, before he speaks again.

“Get up.” It’s an obvious order but Chan wants to keep grinding against the shoe, pulling back means losing the feeling that has his stomach in pleasurable knots but Chan wants to be good, despite the tears of desperation prickling in his eyes. He sniffles, taking a shuddering breath in, glancing up as he slides off and stands up, knees wobbling. Minho looks so nonchalant, eyes dark but face blank—bored.

Minho is nice enough to give Chan a little push towards the couch and he stumbles there, unsure on his feet. It’s humiliating to stand there completely naked with his dick leaking against his skin. Helpless, powerless, and so small. He thrives on it.

Minho chuckles, studying him.

“What a pretty toy you are,” he says but it seems more like thinking aloud, “C’mere.”

He sits down on the couch, patting his lap. Chan swallows, taking small steps to him and carefully straddling him. But then Minho shakes his head, stilling him by placing a hand on Chan’s hip.

“Just one thigh,” Minho looks at him with those disinterested, pretty eyes, and heat flashes through his body in waves. Chan moans softly before nodding and doing as told. It’s little clumsy, for their couch ísn’t exactly the most spacious one, and his bones feel like jelly.

Minho’s trousers are black and tight, his thighs splayed out on the couch in a painfully attractive way.

“Can I?” Chan remembers to ask before lowering himself. Minho has his arms spread out against the backrest, taking space, looking like he is control—and he is.

“Go ahead,” he nods.

He starts off carefully at first, using just a little pressure because he doesn’t want to seem that desperate, although Chan feels like Minho knows that he is. It’s in the crooked smirk of his that’s tugging on his mouth, subtle but still managing to make him feel a bit more smaller. Chan’s hips jerk, his cock a bit too sensitive for it to be comfortable.

Chan wants Minho’s hands on him, holding him down or just giving him some sort of attention, but all there is is his dark look. A moan spills from his lips when he gets his hips down just right, the drag of his cock against the black fabric relieving. His pace turns into an erratic one perhaps a bit too quickly, Chan squeezing his eyes shut because he knows he can’t come unless Minho lets him.

“Keep your eyes open,” Minho’s command is sharp and quiet. Chan doesn’t want to. He obeys nonetheless.

“Can I come?” He asks quietly, voice uneven and shaky, and it sounds pathetic to even his own ears. His cock twitches and precum slides down. He’ll make a mess.

“Hm,” Minho seems to consider it, before cocking his brow and tilting his head, “Why should I let you? You’re just a toy, did you forget that? Aren’t you being a bit greedy?”

There’s so many questions and Chan just doesn’t know. His stomach feels tight and body is trembling, and a tear slides down his cheek as he parts his lips.

“I-I don’t know,” he sobs, hips stilling.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” Minho says. A whimper falls from his open mouth and he tries to set a new pace but it’s so difficult, he is too on edge, sensitive and desperate, hands clenching and unclenching because he can’t hold onto anything like this.

“Please, _nngh_ —” Chan sobs. A hand grabs his face, holding his cheeks and making him keep his eyes at Minho. His hips keep jerking unevenly, tears spilling from his eyes freely by now. It’s so hard to think, world cloudy and all he can focus on is how it good it feels, how good Minho feels.

“Cute,” is all Minho says.

“Please, I,” Chan tries to form words but they stumble and crash, “I’m gonna come.” It’s a quiet whine, wet and nasally.

Minho drops his face from his hand, grabbing him by his hips instead, holding him. He takes in mouthfuls of air, chest heaving as his stomach tightens. Chan squeezes his eyes shut again but this time Minho doesn’t tell him to open them. He shudders, tears wet on his face. Chan barely registers the saliva that drools down the corner of his mouth.

He can’t hold himself up, is the quick, blurry realization. Chan slumps against Minho’s chest, cock still hard between their bodies.

“I’m sorry,” Chan cries out weakly. Minho’s hands are a comforting, grounding weight on his hot skin.

“Colour?” Minho asks softly, the tone of his voice visibly different. He sniffles wetly.

“Green,” he says but it comes out muffled—face pressed against Minho’s shoulder, “green.”

Minho squeezes his waist as a confirmation, and after that the sigh coming from him sounds apathetic and again, so cold. He nudges him for him to move, which is what Chan does, although with wobbly movements. Another wet sniffle but at least he isn’t crying anymore.

Minho thumbs the corner of his mouth and he parts his lips like commanded to. The smile the other one gives him looks almost proud, even despite the coolness of it. He doesn’t shove his finger into his mouth this time, just running the thumb across Chan’s swollen, bitten lips.

“Baby,” he sighs. Chan shudders softly. The arousal is still aching, but in a different way. A dull throb, making him responsive to everything Minho does. He makes a sound from the back of his throat as a response.

“Messy,” Minho chuckles, and it’s only when Chan notices the wet trail of drool. He tries to shut his mouth with face flushing with hot embarrassment again, but Minho stops him from doing it with holding him by pressing his thumb against Chan’s lower teeth as a warning.

“ _Ohmygod—_ ” Chan gasps out when Minho’s other hand suddenly curls around his dick and gives it a stern tug. It’s enough to make his eyes well up with tears again.

“Hurts,” he whimpers. Minho removes his hand, offering an open palm below Chan’s chin.

“Spit,” he says instead of acknowledging Chan’s words. Weakly, he tilts his head a bit to carefully spit on Minho’s hand. He should have seen it coming, but it’s so hard to think, so when now a wet hand strokes his sensitive cock, another pained moan escapes from him.

It’s painful but the friction still manages to make heat of pleasure build up. He bucks up into Minho’s hand, all while wanting to pull further away. The slick sound is vulgar and so loud, Chan’s moans broken and whiny.

“Gonna come?” Minho asks, unwavering but demanding.

“Please,” is the only coherent word that comes out from Chan’s mouth.

“Then come. It’s all your pathetic dick can do, right? You’re just a dumb toy,” Minho sounds so mean and it’s exactly what makes him tip over the edge, spilling in Minho’s fist with strangled sounds from his mouth. He jerks him through it as Chan shakes, all the way until he’s oversensitive, and then it really fucking hurts. He tries to jerk away, shuffling on Minho’s thigh.

“No, no, no,” he sobs.

“Aw,” Minho coos before sliding his palm over the aching tip, but then withdraws it. He wipes his hand on Chan’s flushed chest, briefly rubbing it across his nipples.

“You look all fucked out. Pretty,” he murmurs, touching Chan’s cheek. He just makes another small noise in response, staring at Minho with his eyes half closed.

“What do you say?” He asks then, cocking his brow.

“Thank you,” Chan manages.

“Good boy. Get on your knees,” Minho gives his cheek a gentle slap as he speaks.

“‘Kay,” Chan mumbles, voice like static in his own ears, sliding off Minho’s lap and dropping on his knees onto the floor. He presses his cheek against his knee and waits as he unzips his trousers, pulling his dick out. Minho scoots closer to the edge of the couch.

It’s a fascinating thing, how Minho can come off as so cold and mean, nonchalant, all while being—by the looks of it—achingly hard. Chan couldn’t do that, getting swept away by the feeling too easily.

Minho cradles his head with his palm, running fingers through his hair before giving it a harsh tug and guiding his face to where he needs it. Chan opens his mouth obediently, letting drool slip down over the edge of his bottom lip. It lands on the flushed tip of Minho’s cock.

“Can I?” Chan softly asks the same words again, even though it’s a bit late, watching as the spit slides down the underside.

“Yes, doll,” Minho tugs his hair reassuringly. With that, Chan slides his mouth on his dick, careful with his teeth. The weight and taste of it are both very familiar by now, so it’s easy to get comfortable, hands resting against his own thighs. The aching aftermath is still prickling on Chan’s skin but it’s pleasant, deep to his bones. Floaty.

Minho groans, grabbing a handful of Chan’s hair and pulling harshly. He cries out on his dick, muffled and broken, body trembling. He tries to hollow his cheeks but it’s sort of weak, and then the head of Minho’s cock hits the back of his throat and the loud sound of gagging bursts out. It’s ugly but it’s so hot. Minho seems to think so too when he curses and bucks his hips into Chan’s mouth.

It’s messy, it is. Wet too, but at least the slide is easy. Tears are blurring his sight again, and it doesn’t take long before they’re wetting his cheeks with their fat trails. Minho holds his head firmly in place, thrusts quick and sharp but Chan knows he could go faster. A part of him wants him to.

“Fuck,” Minho gasps. He pulls out, leaving Chan coughing erratically, mouth and chin glistening wet. He doesn’t remove his hand from his hair but makes him tilt his head up and to look at him. Chan is panting with wet-sounding gasps.

Minho’s face is flushed, eyes still so very dark—Chan can tell this through the floaty haze. He moves his hand from the back of his head to his cheek, cradling the skin like in thought. Chan waits and just looks at him, mouth hanging open.

“So good,” Chan mumbles before he can even think about it. Minho’s lips curl into a mischievous smile.

“You really get off on this. Adorable. A toy just for me to play with… Tell me, baby, how much. How much do you love it?”

Chan shudders, closing and opening his mouth with no proper words coming out.

“I,” he starts, wobbly and hoarse, “I love it so much.” His cheeks burn, eyes glancing down. Minho shakes his head.

“Keep your eyes up, baby. You’re good, right? Thought so. You love it _so much,_ but that’s quite vague. Try harder,” Minho has a devilish smile on his lips. Chan keeps losing the grip on his words. Minho looks unreal.

“Ah?” Is all that comes from his mouth, a lot like a question, weak and unsure. Minho laughs shortly.

“Dumb baby…” He shakes his head. “Let’s continue.”

Chan manages to give him a nod.

Instead of sliding his dick back into his mouth, Minho rubs the tip against Chan’s swollen lips. He tries to open his mouth in a way that’d get it inside, which makes Minho chuckle softly.

“Stay still,” he instructs. Chan wants to swallow but with his mouth open it’s harder to. Minho strokes his dick lazily, a bead of precum oozing from the slit against his lips and Chan wants to lap it off so bad but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. He wants to be good even more.

Minho shoves his dick in—harshly for Chan to choke on—quickly enough. The gagging sound is as surprising as before, then weak spluttering, and accompanied with Minho’s breathy moans he thrusts into his mouth erratically as Chan sits there on his knees, hands clenched. It’s difficult to stay still and not shy away but so good. It’s so good. The burning sensation of gagging is filthy and it makes him warm all over.

Minho’s moans motivate him to be good even further, with saliva running down his chin to his neck. He must have been close, it’s no wonder, since while his hips have the coordinated rhythm to them, it falters a bit. Chan whines around him, everything is so blurry. So warm.

Chan misses the weight of him on his tongue when Minho pulls out again. He whines, sticking his tongue out when he keeps jerking himself off before his face. Chan shuts his eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” Minho’s voice cracks as Chan feels warm trails of cum landing on his face. He keeps his eyes closed just in case, until his fingers touch the corner of Chan’s mouth. He opens them just to see Minho slouching over him a bit, his chest heaving with his deep breaths. Even like this Chan can see his face shining with sweat. His own face must look way wetter.

Quietly, Minho collects the cum on his face on this index finger, wiping it on Chan’s inner lower lip. With a suppressed cough, he closes his lips around the digit, even though he isn’t sure if it’s okay to. He isn’t thinking. Minho doesn’t seem to mind it. He sits there for a second, seemingly trying to catch his breath, before running his palm across Chan’s cheek softly.

“Can you stand up?” He sounds so much softer as he says it. Chan nods numbly. The state of his undress could be humiliating still but it really isn’t. Things feel like they’re all surrounded with cotton. Soft, a bit weird, but very familiar. Chan gets up with trembling legs, there must be imprints from the carpet on his knees but it’s not a bad feeling.

Minho tugs himself into his trousers, unbuttoning his dress shirt halfway. He smiles softly to Chan before standing up, taking a hold of his hand carefully. He feels dumb, funny, a wet sniffle coming from —not that he is crying anymore, it’s just from what did happen.

“Do you want to shower? Or maybe cuddle first?” Minho talks carefully, and maybe in some other situation it would have felt degrading in a bad way, like talking to a child, but now it’s just comforting. Chan leans into his side, knees feeling weak.

“I’m tired. Let’s cuddle,” he says softly, voice very much gone. Minho nods, leading the way to their bedroom.

“You did so good,” Minho tells him after he has sat him on the bed, then settling down next to him, Chan pulls on the t-shirt Minho had grabbed from the backrest of a chair by their bedroom door. Minho who is now petting his hair with gentle movements, through the knots and tangles from pulling it.

“You too,” Chan says weakly. He wants to float for just another second but reality is pulling him back, and while it could be a very awful feeling, it’s not. Minho is there. It’s all okay.

Chan lays down on the bed, Minho following after pulling off his trousers and taking off his button up. Intimate, but not sexual. Chan lets out a pleased sigh when Minho shuffles closer, letting Chan wrap his arms around him. Holding him gives him sense of security. He is still there with him, for him.

Minho presses a soft kiss on his bottom lip.

“I’m gross,” Chan mumbles, referring to all the bodily liquids that were on his mouth region just some minutes ago.

“Nah, you’re perfect,” Minho says, awfully sappy. Chan buries his face into his hair, damp from sweat, but so are the rest of their bodies, legs tangled and sticking together.

“You’re gross,” Chan comments, “greasy.”

Minho laughs nasally at this, poking his side but not with much force. The both of them are vulnerable like this, Chan knows, not just him.

“I love you,” he mumbles into his hair, “I’m not hurt.”

“I love you too,” is what Minho says. It’s what he wants to hear too. In a moment, they’ll rinse off the sweat and whatever they have on their skin, and Minho will kiss his sore lips. They’ll be stupid and in love. Or something like that.

“My throat hurts,” Chan sighs, emphasized by the way his voice is croaky.

“I’m sorry,” Minho’s apology is whiny, probably not very genuine. Chan huffs.

“Liar. You aren’t sorry,” he mumbles. Minho shrugs his shoulders, softly clashing against Chan’s body as he does so.

“Maybe,” he says, “but neither are you. Like, you don’t regret it.”

Chan shakes his head with a small smile on his lips.

“Hell yeah, I don’t.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> im disgusting! i know this isnt anything special but i hope u enjoyed it nevertheless n__n im very bad at writing sappy things, hopefully u didnt cringe lol. leave a comment or kudos and u can have my soul


End file.
